Grownups
by InLoveWithLaughing
Summary: Everyone wants to be a grownup, until they are one, and Lily Potter is no different. WARNING: Cousincest and femmeslash


_For _Gamma Orionis and Cheeky Slytherin Lass'sFemmeslash Project Competition.

Prompts used: Cherries, dancing, masks, secrets, piano, wine, "You're so easy to read, but the book is boring me" –Emilie Autumn, Misery Loves Company, silver and library.

Description: Everyone wants to be a grownup, until they are one, and Lily Potter is no different.

Rating: T

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own anything. _

_**WARNING: Cousincest and femmeslash**_

* * *

I want to play with the big girls. I chase after Dom, Lucy, Molly and you, shouting that I'm bigand a _grownup._ It's no good, your legs are longer than mine. I'm just a roly-poly seven year old. You disappear laughing, and I have to go back to Rose, who's waiting patiently at the house. We go up to my room and play together all day.

oOo

All of the girls are at Hogwarts except Rose and me. You come home for the holidays and giggle together, and won't tell me what you're talking about. I try on some of mum's make up. I get the blush mixed up with the foundation, and end up looking like a tomato. Everyone laughs, and I run to my room, insides squirming with humiliation and eyes burning with tears. Rose comes up and wipes my face gently, she tells me I don't need makeup and _to wait until I'm older_. I want to scream.

OoO

I find out my talent in my first year at Hogwarts. My hand begins to itch with _something_ and I pick up a pencil and absentmindedly begin to draw. From then on I'm never without a pencil and paper.

OoO

Drawing Rose is easy. Thick, bold lines. Confident grace. Streaks of yellow and orange and red, because Rose is sunshine and happy and cherries. She bites into one now, her white teeth breaking the skin and juice dribbling down her chin. She catches it with her finger and licks with her little pink tongue. I try to capture it all. Time isn't slow enough. I need more time. _FasterFasterFaster. _Rose is quick and free and doesn't care that I _need _to draw her.

OoO

Molly is out on a date. Lucy is out with her friends. You and Dom sit together on the porch, sipping wine as if you've been drinking it forever and this isn't the first time you've been allowed to try some. I'm not allowed any.

I lie on the grass, my stomach pressed to the ground, my pencil flying madly over the paper. Rose leans over and laughs when she sees the drawing. _It's me_, she says. I smile up at her, it's always her.

OoO

Albus and James laugh and jog my arm, trying to make the picture go wrong. They tell me I have enough drawings of Rose. And I do, I have a whole book of them. No longer my sketch book, but my Rose-book. Rose smiles knowingly and my heart trips in response.

OoO

Her hands dance across the ivory keys. I work frantically. The grace of her movements. The curve of her little finger. Her chewed nails, chipped blue nail varnish. The dusting of golden freckles.

I barely noticed when the music stops, trying desperately to get those tiny creases _just right_. One of those long, elegant fingers is under my chin and my face is tilted up.

_Come to bed _she says in _that _voice. The one I can't resist. The pencil falls to the ground. My paper rips slightly as I drop it. I don't care.

Pale fingers twist and slide between my own. _Those hands_.

Soon they're playing a very different sort of ivory.

OoO

Tight black silk is stretched against my skin. I look like a woman. I feel like a little girl. _You look gorgeous_. White arms wrap around my waist and a chin rests on my shoulder. Red hair tangles with red. Blue eyes meet blue eyes. I cringe away from the mirror and close my eyes. We look like sisters.

OoO

We put on our masks and go downstairs. We don't dare to dance together; people at Hogwarts would recognise us in an instant. We're too similar. But then you begin to dance with me. Your touch burns and my heart races as I look into shining black eyes. You're hardly ever seen with me, people won't recognise _you_.

OoO

I go to library every day after that. I don't tell Rose why. I can't tell Rose that I want to watch _you_. Watch as your dark hands turn the pages and run over the words, as if you can feel the power they have. My new book, the one Rose got me for Christmas, is slowly being filled. But not by yellow and orange and red. The new book is filled with purple and blue and silver. Because you're regal and deliberate and cold. You know I'm watching you and drawing you. You wait for me one day and for a second I'm filled with light, breathless hope. But your words are sharp and painful and _not even your own. _

_You're so easy to read, but the book is boring me._

OoO

I can't stop myself. My whole body aches with need as I draw day after day, picture after picture. And the pictures are beautiful and grown up. And now when I look at Rose I think of tea parties and dolls and mistakes. But when I look at you I think of wine and secrets and dancing.

OoO

And when it's summer, I write letters to _you_, and send _you_ my drawings and tells _you _about my parents' divorce. It doesn't matter that you never write back, or that when you come over you barely look at me, because I can't stop myself wanting you.

OoO

And slowly, _slowly, _it pays off. The famous Potter persistence. You start to talk to me, at first like you don't expect me to understand what you're saying, then slowly, _slowly, _like I'm your equal. Your words are still not your own normally, you borrow and steal from Austin and Shakespeare and Bronte. But I understand.

OoO

Rose can no longer ignore my obsession. We argue, Rose shouting and me crying and neither of us understanding the other.

_What happened? Why aren't I enough anymore?_

I can't bare it and leave. I go to your house, and when you open the door you look confused. I don't tell you, but you know, I can tell you do. I step forward with my arms outstretched. You're going to hug me, going to kiss me, finally going to love me. But when your hands are on my body it isn't in love but anger.

_What are you doing here? Why did you come to _me_?_

My words are shaking and desperate, and when they fall out of my mouth you shake your head in exasperation. Somebody appears behind you then.

_Lily? What are you doing her? Do your parents know you're out so late?_

I hate Teddy then. I've heard the rumours, of course, but I'd thought… You know what I thought, and you never bothered to correct me.

I leave because if I stay one more minutes I'll hit you. Or kiss you. I don't know which.

OoO

And now here we are. You stand in your pretty white dress, looking radiant and happy. I search your face for some small regret or doubt. There is none. You meet my eyes and smile coolly. We haven't spoken for almost a year and I know you didn't expect me to come. But I had to.

You look away after only a second and my eyes meet another's. Blue and clear and sparkling with fiery passion. So unlike yours. But then they look away too, and Rose takes the hand of her girlfriend and kisses her cheek reverently.

And in the end, I'm left alone. I look over at my dad, who's busy drinking himself into oblivion. James is sitting at the next table with his girlfriend, laughing like a schoolboy. Mum is behind him, pretending to enjoy Grandads company. Sitting with them is Victoire, who is looking wistfully at the happy couple, dreaming about her own upcoming wedding. Uncle Ron went hours ago, leaving Aunt Hermione to find her own way home.

And I wonder if maybe the youngest Potter is the one who has grown up first. After all, I seem to be the only one who realises we all end up alone in the end.

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